


Interlude

by verbaepulchellae



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Clarke focused smut, F/M, Smut, minor metions of becho, over the clothes grinding, season 5 fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 07:09:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14689059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbaepulchellae/pseuds/verbaepulchellae
Summary: She doesn’t know how they ended up here, couldn’t explain the minutiae of the last twenty-four, thirty-six, forty-eight hours (hours? Try days. Try weeks. Try years.) that lead them to this moment. It’s been building, of course it has, maybe every since she approached Bellamy all those years ago and told him to follow her. But she wouldn’t have guessed it would be like this- both of them battered and emotionally ragged and broken down again so quickly after they’ve been thrust back together.





	Interlude

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know, I just needed to get some angsty season 5 bellarke smut out of my system after 504.

She doesn’t know how they ended up here, couldn’t explain the minutiae of the last twenty-four, thirty-six, forty-eight hours (hours? Try days. Try weeks. Try years.) that lead them to this moment. It’s been building, of course it has, maybe every since she approached Bellamy all those years ago and told him to follow her. But she wouldn’t have guessed it would be like this- both of them battered and emotionally ragged and broken down again so quickly after they’ve been thrust back together. 

One moment they’re at each other’s throats, the next Bellamy’s is the only face she wants to see. The only voice she wants to hear. This is isn’t the right moment, but with Abby’s pills, and Octavia’s distant eyes, and Echo and Madi on the run and what feels like every relationship they’ve ever known in tatters- well. Maybe it is the right moment, even if it’s not how Clarke would have pictured it.

But here they are, in the hush of the dark woods, the factions of what’s left of humanity ringed out around them, tentatively at peace for the moment, and Bellamy is looking at her like he doesn’t quite know what to do. Funny, that. With his thigh slotted between hers, and his hands on her hips encouraging the short, desperate grind she’s got going, he seems to know exactly what to do.

They’d gone for a walk. She’d wanted to offer comfort, but what comfort could be offered to someone who’d found love in peace time, only to have it ripped away again? She didn’t know Echo, but the gentleness she’d seen her bring out in Bellamy she recognized. And if Echo brought out something less than gentle, less than kind in Clarke, well, it wasn’t her place to feel it. Six years was a long time. Feelings didn’t change, but death had a funny way of changing expectations.

But Bellamy hadn’t wanted to talk about Echo, hadn’t wanted comfort. So they’d talked of other things, hesitant, still unsure of the enormity of things left unsaid between them. And then they were here: with _“You let anyone be kind to you since we opened the bunker?”_ and “ _with what time?”_ and the flick of Bellamy’s eyes and their bodies moving before their consciousnesses caught up… 

Clarke tips her head back against the rough back of the tree where she leans. For the slow pace, the gentleness of Bellamy’s hands, it’s not soft. Leather and canvas fatigues and hard pressure, it should maybe be too much, Clarke thinks, after years and years and years of just her fingers. But she’s conditioned herself to be fast, efficient, quiet. This may be quiet, with just her sharp gasps when her clit gets a particular good drag against Bellamy’s thigh, but it’s not quick. It’s not efficient, it’s the most indulgent she’s been in years, and it’s so _good._

Bellamy’s thigh is thick and strong: muscled and defined even through the layers of clothing. Clarke curls her shaking fingers into the soft, worn material of his shirt, right above his elbows and hangs on. Bellamy’s fingers squeeze her gently in response. “Uh-huh,” he murmurs at her when Clarke can’t help her soft grunt of surprise when Bellamy presses harder back against her.

It’s the most either of them have said in the last ten minutes. Clarke shivers at his voice and allows herself to hold onto his arms, not just his shirt. He’s so warm, so sturdy, and Bellamy presses closer, presses her more firmly against the trunk of the tree and he tightens of his grip on her, urging her on. 

Clarke rocks helplessly against him, because it feels so good. God, so good to have another person touch her like this, even if it’s not really touching. It’s not Bellamy’s mouth, or fingers, or even his cock, it’s just his leg, but damn. She doesn’t want to kiss him not right now, not like this, but their breath mixing together is just as intimate, just as overwhelming as if they were. The noise she makes is one she doesn’t recognize, a little pitchy, a little desperate, almost more animal than human but Bellamy’s eyes darken and he drops his forehead against hers for a moment before he jerks his head back like he’s been burned. 

“What-”

“Nothing. Nothing,” Bellamy murmurs, and Clarke’s not stupid, it’s something, but it’s not about her. “You’re fine. More than fine, Clarke.”

Clarke pants a breath in response, can’t and doesn’t want to try to parse anything beyond the delicious grind that’s slowly building. Her cunt is so slick, it’s eased her desperate rub somewhat so now it’s just slick, wonderful pressure. She shifts her weight slightly and gasps at how it changes the angle on her clit, gets it a little more directly so that when she rolls her hips up in a long drag, it’s all shivery and bright and makes her stomach flip.

Bellamy exhales with a shudder and his hands guide her through the motion again, and then again, and then again and Clarke jerks, over-sensitive and overwhelmed even as her orgasm is still building. She tucks her head forehead so her nose is buried in Bellamy’s shoulder and one of his hands cups the back of her head for a moment before he drops it right back down to her hip to keep her moving. He does something with his leg, bouncing it a little and Clarke’s whine surprises her. 

“Yeah,” Bellamy whispers. “Yeah, you got that, huh?”

“I-” Clarke manages. “I-” She wants it. She feels it in her, feels the threatening drop that’ll send the aching, delicious thrum of her clit throughout her body. But it’s been so long that someone else has been here for this, let alone someone she loves so complexly like Bellamy. As good as it feels, as much as she wants it, wants this, it teeters just out of reach. “I don’t know if I can-”

“You can,” Bellamy assures her, quiet, confident, his voice warm in a way it hasn’t been with her in awhile, “I know you can. Take your time.”

Clarke shudders and turns her face so that she can press her mouth into the warm skin of his neck, lets his familiar-new scent wash over her, twist and wrap itself around the tingly, sweet ache in her nipples and clit. Her breath is ragged, she can only pant now, desperate to get there, desperate to prove that she can. Bellamy’s hands guide to her a quick, short grind, one that doesn’t give her clit any relief, sends her spiraling up too quickly and makes her breath burn in her lungs. 

Her hands grasp and cling to him as her body starts to shake and shake without release. Bellamy makes a soft maou at the tortured, high noise she makes in her throat. And then his fingers are plucking at the waist of her pants. Clarke’s almost to gone to realize the question that’s there, the tentative permission he’s seeking when they’ve already crossed so many lines. 

“Yes,” she manages to breath. “Yes.”

He doesn’t waste time. His fingers are in her underwear between one breath and the next and she hears his sharp inhale at how slick she is. This close together, at this angle, it’s a little awkward, and it takes him a few fumbles to find her clit, but then the hard nub of it slides over the pad of his finger and both of them make a noise. 

He doesn’t just let her grind on him, his rubs his fingers fast and hard, tight circles that seem to vibrate even as they rub and stay tight on her clit and Clarke loses all breath and thought and for a moment feels like she can’t move as everything crests all at once. The shock of her orgasm sends her thrashing against Bellamy and he immediately stills his fingers, lets her ride it out at her own pace as he holds her tightly against his chest, his own face turned into her hair and his breath ghosting unsteadily against her ear.

There is a moment of quiessence as Clarke’s heart beat slows and her body feels like it’s glowing and shimmering with the pulses of sweet, deep waves that roll out from her cunt. Time creeps up on them, reminds her that they don’t do this: that Bellamy’s just had to let the woman he loves go to save her life, that Madi is out in the darkness of the dead zone. That they’re too jagged and raw with each other still to have anything like this stay soft for too long.

Clarke gently pushes herself away from Bellamy’s chest and his pulls his fingers from her pants. His hand is halfway to his mouth before he freezes and he stares at his fingers, slick from her cunt, with uncertainty. She realized he was going to suck them clean, and the thought sends both a hot pulse to her stomach even as it makes her heart ache. He looks at her, at a loss, and Clarke gently takes his hand and wipes it clean on her shirt. She squeezes it gently as she lets him go.

“You good?” She asks softly. She would do the same for him, if he let her, but somehow she thinks he won’t. Sure enough, Bellamy just nods and shakes out his shoulders. Tension still radiates from him.

“You?”

“Yeah.” Clarke hesitates for all of a moment before she steps back into his space and gives him a hug. Bellamy wraps his arms around her and squeezes her back, body going loose and his face tucking familiarly into her neck as he takes a suddenly ragged breath. It’s the most he’s let her comfort him since he’s gotten to the ground and Clarke rocks him gently, letting her face find the spot that’s always been hers in his shoulder.

“We’ll get through this,” she says softly. “We don’t know how things will end yet.”

“I know,” Bellamy murmurs. “I know. But I--” his voice breaks and he takes a slow breath. “Thanks, Clarke. Thank you.”

Clarke lets him go and steps back, smiles up at him sadly. “We’ll get through this like we always do.”

Neither of them has to say _together_ for them to both hear it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and Kudos always appreciated. 
> 
> Encased In Case I Need It will be updated on May 28th.


End file.
